


Flowers and Grave Beds

by redluna



Series: Inceptiversary Trope/Kink Bingo [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 17:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19949779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redluna/pseuds/redluna
Summary: Suppose it doesn't matter who took who in the end, so long as they got there. (Things always did get funny on the retellings anyway.)





	Flowers and Grave Beds

The thing, Eames had learned, was that people were bound to assume certain things about you when your mother was a harvest goddess. None of which was helped, of course, by how borderline ruthless said goddess had proven to be when it came to protecting that child from just about anything. And, for all that such things aided him more often than not, Eames couldn't help but feel that he was being done a disservice.

Even a shelter constructed by a god could only last so long before something arrived before something arrived to make it fracture along the edges. With a mind as insatiable as Eames', it honestly should have been considered an outright inevitability.

But, such as it was, no one batted an eye when he announced his plans to build a garden. If anything, it made his mother smile wider than ever; the nymphs only put out that he seemed so determined to do it all but without their aid. He was coming into his own, was all, leaving the tricks of the past behind in favor of his true calling.

Gods wanted an easy answer about as much as any mortal. Not a one of them would want to imagine him in the home of the woman turned mad through her own brush with a god who still wept freely over allowing her to see too much.

(He knew better than to accept the quest to search out her spinning top, although that didn't keep him from feeling wary of anyone who would accept Death owing her a debt as payment.)

It could have been an easy task, of course. Being born in the center of creation did tend to make it want to bend to your will, after all. But if what he meant to achieve through this was simple then he wouldn't have had to do such a thing to begin with. So, really, he could settle for peeling off callouses and inspecting scratches on hands that could never quite rid the scent of dirt now, if it meant that with each new flower bud the stirrings in his chest pulled ever tighter.

And, if he wasn't anywhere near the garden when it snapped taught in earnest, at least he wasn't with his mother. The nymphs always meant well, never meaning to slack in their role of caretakers, but their free spirited nature aligned with his own too often not to be lenient. And, besides, none of them could up with a solid enough argument to keep him from dashing down to the valley that held his garden.

Despite it all, it was something of a surprise to find a figure nestled in among the flowers. Or, perhaps more accurately, that that person was entirely asleep.

"Of course, you had to crush all my hard work." Eames shook his head, bending down to brush his fingers through the errant narcissus petals that had worked their way into Arthur's hair. "You really are something, darling."

There were plenty of ways to wake Arthur up. Eames just happened to settle for one of the gentler ways (or, alright, the most fun). It wasn't even his fault that things progressed as far as they did. Not when Arthur barely stirred at the kisses, even the one that chased after his pulse. Rucking his hands up under the man's shirt really had been the only option. And if Arthur chose to start drifting to properly when Eames' mouth was somewhere around the line of his pants then that was really no problem but his own.

"Eames." It was easy enough to ignore, even with the hand settling in his hair. " _Eames_." The next drawl of his name was rougher, inclining him to lift his head up, even if he couldn't hide the pout it brought. All the better for the laughter that rumbled almost in surprise out of Arthur in return. "Not that I don't appreciate the effort, but can we not do this in a place where your mother can still smite me?"

"She might still." Eames wiggled upwards, for all of Arthur's grumblings, to drape himself over the god once again. "But she can only try. I claimed you, after all."

"So I noticed." Arthur settled his arms around Eames, eyes never once leaving his own. "You know what that means, don't you?"

"Of course." Eames pressed his forehead to Arthur's own, even as the earth split open beneath them; locked with the first person to _ask_ what he wanted rather than simply assume. "I wouldn't have fought for it otherwise."

(The rest, of course, comes later, with Ariadne out of breath on the threshold of the Underworld, begging for an end to the endless winter. Arthur might wilt, but Eames simply reminds him of his own promise.

With each pomegranate seed to pass his lips widening Arthur's smile.) 

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow it turned out there wasn't a way not to see "kidnapping" as a prompt and not think of my favorite myth.


End file.
